The nice thing about food places on the second floor is that they tend to feel like someone’s living room or attic: automatically homey, no matter what craziness is going on in the streets below. While walking through the unending streams of people in the Shinjuku Sanchome area of Tokyo, an orange sign caught my eye, advertising curry – always a hard sign to resist. Looking up at the restaurant, I could see coloured lanterns and a warmish glow. I entered the building and climbed up the bare staircase, poking around and looking for the door.

When I found it, I felt like I was walking into a neighbour’s living room – if that neighbour was a Japanese native who happened to be completely and utterly in love with India. There were little figurines of elephants lined up against the windowsill, lush and vivid fabrics draped here and there and books on India carefully stacked against the shelves. The cook, merrily frying his curries away behind the counter, was a young man donning a Bob Marley hat, a bit of a contrast with the cute and cosy decor. Four salarymen in suits were sitting in one of two tables in the place, having a beer and a curry – a common scene in London, but one that plays out very differently in the heart of Tokyo. Another man sat at the counter, grey-haired and also wearing a suit. He was eating his curry while reading through a manga, on occasion looking down at the passersby below.

I have had a running love affair with Indian ingredients for some time now, owing to some pretty awesome ex-roomies. The tiny black mustard seeds, the garam masala, the bright yellow turmeric. The spice jars are so beautiful, and the three curries I learned to prepare through friends became the dishes I enjoyed making the most before moving to Beijing. I especially like turmeric; apparently it repels ants and, when mixed with milk, cures illnesses. I haven’t actually tested either of these claims, but they both seem quite useful for such a pretty goldenrod powder.

Whoever opened this place, Curry Kusamakura, also has a serious love affair with Indian food. I could tell straight away. The place smelled like my ex-flatmate’s kitchen: of finely diced onions and garam masala. We sat down at the counter, which overlooked a leafy green park, and you could watch the people streaming home in front of you. When the food arrived, it was served in plain white dishware and tasted pleasantly familiar.

Unlike the northern Indian curries usually found in Indian restaurants, it was light and soupy with an onion base, very much like the South Indian curries my friends would make for us to share. Of course, Japanese care for presentation carried through. Eggplants were thinly diced and fanned out. Bright red cherry tomatoes dotted the curry here and there to lend a bit of colour. The masala chai was warm and fragrant, tasting much like the kind that a friend’s older sister made for us, full of cardamom, cinnamon and spice. This was Indian home cooking, through and through; the only obvious indications that we were in Tokyo were the Japanese pickles and short grain rice on the plate.

After looking through the travel photos of India and Nepal tacked on the walls, I sat for a while, listening to Beatles covers sung by a velvet-voiced woman softly play. I left the little sanctuary the owner had created in Curry Kusa, walked back down the steep stairway and went back into the bustle of one of the densest cities in the world.

Curry Kusamakura
3-1-32 Shinjuku No.202
(up the stairs from the skewer and soba shop)
Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo, JAPAN
03-6426-2302

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This entry was posted on Friday, September 11th, 2009 at 10:27 am and is filed under Tokyo, travel.